Solitude
by petite etoile22
Summary: AU S6. She allows herself to cry. She doesn't want to be a Myers anymore; she wants to be upset, and angry, and scared.


_**Author's Note: This is a one-shot based on JulietD001's video of the same name on YouTube. I don't own Spooks, BBC/Kudos do.**_

* * *

Ros grits her teeth as another bolt of pain drills its way through her skull. She desperately scrabbles around her bedside table, before finding the bottle of paracetamol and swallowing four dry. She doesn't care if she's exceeding the recommended dose; anything to put a dent in this headache. Ros doesn't think she's physically cried from pain since the age of six; Myers were taught that crying was weakness, and that weakness was never tolerated in their household. She thinks she might cry now. Ros takes a deep breath, and prepares to head to the bathroom for her morning shower. She doesn't make it. There is no 'brownout', no fore-warning. She is merely upright one moment, and lying on the floor, body convulsing into positions she never knew were possible, the next. Ros feels her heart pounding in her skull, almost loud enough to drown out the pain. Then slowly, too slowly for her liking, the world creeps gingerly back into her view. Through sheer willpower, she manages to knock her phone down, and hit the desired speed-dial number.

"Rosalind?"

"Jerr-m..." She slurs. "Jerr-me..."

"I'm coming over right now."

"Nnn..."

"Don't argue with me. I'm coming over."

After several minutes, Ros manages to pull herself into a sitting position, using her bed as support. She feels utterly exhausted, and completely unprepared for the conversation she knows she will have to take part in once Jeremy arrives. She's just thankful he has a copy of her key. The only way she thinks she'd be able to get to the front door is by hurling herself down the stairs.

She feels remarkably better, seated in an armchair, wrapped in a blanket, with a cup of english tea in her hands. For the shock, of course. Jeremy watches her carefully, as if she was going to break at any moment.

"When did the first one happen?"

"First what?"

"Don't play games with me?" He snaps. "When did your first seizure happen?"

"A week and a half ago."

"You've known there was something for over a week?!"

"There's nothing wrong."

"Yes there is, Rosalind. You couldn't even form a word when I spoke to you on the phone. We're getting you checked out."

"I have work."

"Now is not the time to display your infamous stubborn streak."

"Jeremy..." Ros sighs.

"You're having the scan at my clinic right now. I'll contact you later with the results."

* * *

Ros feels as if she is in her own coffin, and the feeling doesn't go away until long after she's left the clinic, and thrown herself into her work. It is just past five, when she gets the call.

"I've been trying to contact you all afternoon! What the hell have you been up to?"

"Oh, just this little thing called Work." she replies calmly.

"I got your results back. We need to talk."

"Can we do it at my place?"

"Of course. Rosalind? It might be for the best if you brought a friend along."

She calls Adam. She knows what her godfather has to say, and she doesn't want to listen by herself; she doesn't think she'll be able to. He picks up after the third ring.

"Ros?"

She knows that tone of voice; he's with Ana.

"I was just wondering if you'd like to come over to mine tonight?"

"I can't."

No apology. No 'perhaps tomorrow?'.

"Fine." she responds, holding onto the bathroom sink for support. After several moments, she takes a deep breath and stands up tall. Myers have never needed someone to hold their hand before, so she's bloody well not going to start now.

Jeremy sits across from her on the sofa, trying to gauge her reaction. Her face is a blank slate as usual, but her movements give her away; she is too tight, too controlled.

"A deformity. Can you fix it?"

"It's in the third ventricle; inoperable."

"Chemo?"

"It's not cancer, Rosalind. You were born with this."

"Well then, I'll just have to live with it for another forty years."

"Rosalind..."

She sighs, her only sign of defeat. "How long?"

"Rosalind," he starts, standing up and pacing the floor.

"Don't. How long?" she demands, tilting her head to one side.

"Look at me, Rosalind."

"I am."

"No." Jeremy gently places a hand on each cheek, holding her head in place. "Look at me."

Ros bites her lip in frustration. "I can't. I can't look up. What does that mean?"

"It means 6-8 weeks at best."

"What will happen?"

"You'll have good and bad days. Sometimes, it will seem as if there's nothing wrong with you."

"And the bad days?"

"Severe cluster headaches, temporary loss of vision and speech, impaired hand-eye coordination..."

"Will I lose my mind?" she cuts in softly.

"No, you won't lose your mind. You will need hel-"

"I can manage."

"Rosalind," he sighs. "You don't have to deal with this alone.

"I do; because the man who supposedly cares for me is with another woman at this very moment. He's made his choice, and I've made mine. I'd like you to leave now."

Jeremy leaves silently, setting down a couple of bottles of pain medication on his way out.

Despite her speech, Ros does phone Adam again. She continues to call him as she checks out every hotel in central London.

He never picks up.

* * *

The following afternoon is her next opportunity to speak with him. He appears to be in deep conversation with Jo, but she doesn't have time to waste, she really doesn't.

"Adam, can I talk to you?"

"Not now." He replies without a backward glance.

"Adam?" She tries again.

"Jo, what's the latest on his movements?"

"Please." Ros hates the begging tone that has slipped into her voice. Particularly, when Jo notices it.

"I'll drop it on your desk." she says, trying to pacify the situation.

"No, I'll do it myself."

Ros takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. She doesn't know what hurts more; her oncoming headache, or Adam's dismissal.

She finds out that Adam has started taking Ana to a safe house, and is not at all surprised to find her in the shower when she arrives. She _is _surprised by the way Adam half-drags her across the tiny flat.

"What the hell are you playing at?"

"Don't worry, she doesn't know I'm here. Yet."

"Have you been drinking?"

"Haven't touched a drop. But I've finally got your attention."

"You're doing this for attention?"

"I need to talk to you."

"We can talk on the Grid."

"No, we can't. I need-"

"To leave. Now."

"No!" she hisses. "Can you stop thinking about your precious Ana for-"

"When are you going to get it into your head that I don't care about her! She's an asset! Look, I really don't have time for this!"

She breaks then; knows she'll never be able to tell him.

"You're right. We don't have time."

"We'll talk later." His voice taking on a more patient tone.

"No, we won't. I can't do this anymore."

"What?"

"This. Us. I can't do it."

"Ros, I don't love Ana."

"That's not the point."

"Then what is the point, Rosalind?"

"The point is," she states with a sad smile, "you don't love me."

* * *

Harry swirls the amber liquid in his crystal tumbler before meeting Ros' eyes again.

"You're dying?"

"Yes. I've got four weeks at most."

"You can't work, Rosalind..." he sighs, head in his hands.

"I'm already on desk duty from the last op. Give me menial, unimportant filing tasks if you have to. I want to be doing something useful with my time. I need to be doing something."

"Have you told Adam?"

"I tried."

"Rosalind, you have to tell him. He-"

"He's nothing. We're not together; we never really were."

"So you just plan to die on him?"

"I tried," Ros whispers thickly. "But he doesn't have time. I don't have the time for him to find some for me. Besides, I can't tell him now anyway."

"Why not?"

"There are times when I can barely move for the pain. I'd rather have him not love me, than have him pity me."

"You're dying, Rosalind."

"I'm fully aware of that fact. I don't need your pity."

"I don't pity you." he replies gently to her outburst.

"Why not?"

"It just seems inappropriate."

"Exactly." Ros smiles softly. "I'd like to die how I want to die. That doesn't involve considering other people feelings towards my predicament."

"I can't force you to do anything. Just call if ever you need something."

"I will." she agrees sincerely, placing her tumbler down with a crash. They both stare at the shattered pieces of glass, and it is several moments before Harry dismisses Ros from his office.

* * *

Ros is having a bad day, which has everything and nothing to do with her current situation. Harry asks no questions when she requests the day off. And now, she finds herself sitting on a bus, en route to the house of her first years of childhood, the only home she ever had in England. She thinks it's a shame that they don't use it anymore, and nearly breaks down when she recalls her mother's dreams of seeing it filled with children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. Ros silently lets herself into the townhouse. She doesn't have a key, but that's never stopped her before. Ros needs some space to breathe, some space to recover, some space to avoid the feeling that she's betraying her team by not telling them. She'll go in tomorrow when she feels better. Once the new pain medication has kicked in, she'll be as good as new. She leaves a message with Connie, as Harry's in a meeting, and goes to draw herself a bath.

"What are we going to do with you, Rosalind?" she slurs slightly, not bothering to conceal her deterioration now that she's alone.

She doesn't answer. It's semi-rhetorical; she knows what she's going to do with herself.

She's going to die.

The hot water scalds her skin, and Ros can't tell if she's pretending it doesn't hurt or if it really doesn't anymore. Ros allows herself to cry. She gives herself this one indulgence. She doesn't want to be a Myers anymore; she doesn't want to be strong. She's clung onto ideals that she should've dropped when her family did the same to her. Now, she just wants to be upset, and angry, and scared.

"It's not fair." she whispers, feeling the beginnings of a cluster headache overwhelm her.

"It's not fair!" she screams through the pain, her body trembling as she dissolves into sobs.

It's just not fair.

* * *

Connie hurries into his office, and Harry can tell at once that something is horribly wrong.

"Ros hasn't come into work and nobody can get in touch with her, we've tried."

"What did she say when you last spoke to her?"

"That she was at home. And would be here at nine."

It's ten past.

"Get a medical unit to her flat, and another to follow me. I'll call Adam."

The blond spook answers on the first ring, and the older man feels slightly guilty at going against her wishes.

"Harry?"

"It's Ros, she's dying."

"What's happened?"

"She didn't want to tell you."

"I-I'm..."

"How far away are you from her flat?"

Adam glances at his watch. "About ten minutes. I'm on my way."

The fifteen minute drive in the opposite direction to her old family home is agony, but he knows his intuition is correct. He also knows that Ros wouldn't want Adam to see her in whatever state she's currently in.

"Ben, go on to the hospital with Connie."

The young spy does what he's told, grateful to gain some distance from this confusing situation.

Harry finds her having a seizure in the middle of the kitchen floor, mobile phone just out of her reach. He holds her for support and whispers softly to her as she flails against him. He has no idea how long she's been like this and only hopes they've gotten to her in time.

"It's going to be alright. It's going to be alright..."

He prays that Ros can hear his words of comfort.

* * *

With the breathing tube in her mouth, she looks like any other unconscious patient. Only the multi-coloured thunderstorm dominating the LCD screen, which the wires on her head lead to, tells them otherwise. They all stand to attention when the neurologist enters the modest hospital room.

"The paralysing agent has calmed her body, but the seizures aren't stopping."

"They'll stop." Adam and Harry reply.

"At this stage, there's a large chance they won't."

"How long before the seizure cause real damage?" Connie asks, the only one left capable of being objective.

"Giving the intensity and duration, and the results of her last scan, we've concluded that significant permanent neurological damage has already occurred. My team and I would like to administer a general; put Rosalind's brain to sleep in other words."

"You mean you want to put her in a coma?" Harry asks in disbelief.

"It'll stop the seizures."

"But she may not come out of that!" Adam exclaims.

There is a long silence before the doctor speaks again. "I'm sorry, but Rosalind isn't going to recover from this. The only thing we can do now is make her as comfortable as possible."

Harry nods. "Go ahead."

"I'll leave you to spend some time with her, then I'll come back when you're ready."

The team gather round as the neurologist administer the dose.

"This is going to help you Ros." Adam whispers, softly stroking her cheek. "It'll help you rest."

No one notices the doctor slip from the room. They just stand, mesmerised by the screen which shows the thunderstorm wane and ebb into a turquoise blue plain.

She's still now.


End file.
